


Apologies

by Mandibles



Series: Rare Teen Wolf Threesomes [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Daddy Kink, Dom/sub, Hand Jobs, Light Bondage, M/M, Petplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-04
Updated: 2012-10-04
Packaged: 2017-11-15 16:00:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/529008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mandibles/pseuds/Mandibles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jackson bites Stiles. Peter has him apologize.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Apologies

Jackson bites him. And, it’s bad.

Not the actual bite, per se. Okay, so, yeah, that’s kind of bad in its own way, but Jackson’s not an Alpha and the wound doesn’t need stitches, so, in the grand scheme of things, Stiles got out easy. Plus, yeah, for argument’s sake, it really is Stiles’ fault, because even the full moon won’t stop him from digging his finger into Jackson’s side out of petty jealousy. Stiles is a petty person; he’s willing to admit that.

No, the real issue here is Peter Hale. He’s the bad thing here, because he’s a real bad, bad, horrible guy. You can see it in that smirk of his, the one that prickles under Stiles’ skin. The bite gets bad because Peter gets involved, texting him with Jackson’s phone that he wants to apologize and to meet him at the Hale house.

(And, this is Stiles’ fault, too, he supposes, because when would Jackson ever be willing to apologize, even if Derek pressed? And, since when did he have his phone number?)

That’s how he ends up here, like this, zombie werewolf pressed against his back, giving him the best fucking handjob on the planet, and douche-y werewolf kneeling before him, arms bound behind his back.

This is about when things go from bad to fucked.                                                                   

Peter’s hand is surprisingly warm, a little bony as it strokes his length with firm, hip-jerking squeezes. Stiles knows, fucking knows, he should be stopping, this, should be screaming bloody fucking murder for the real Alpha, but you know how many handjobs he’s gotten from someone other than Ms. Right (and occasionally Mr. Lefty)? Yeah, none. At all.

He does, though, manage to feel somewhat ashamed of the almost disturbing amount of precum that oozes from his slit, over Peter’s knuckles, but that meets a quick end, too. If anyone’s making a real fool of themselves here, it’s Jackson. He’s on his knees, bound, his body arching up so that his mouth is a breath away from his dick, his tongue lolling out.

Like a dog waiting for a treat. Which—oh fuck. The treat’s his load, right? Shit.

That’s so fucked—

—and stupidly hot. Damn.

Peter thumbs at the head, presses over his slit, and Stiles squeezes his eyes shut when another stream of precum rushes forward.

Peter exhales, sweeping Stiles in another blast of his way-too-fucking-good cologne. “Is that how you like it, Stiles?” he whispers, lips brushing against the shell of Stiles’ ear. “You like it when people are a little—” A squeeze. “—rough with you?

Strangled disgust. “Fuck you,” Stiles spits.

But, Peter only laughs. “There’s no shame in it. See, my little pup here likes things on the rougher side, too. Don’t you, pup?” he calls to Jackson.

Stiles doesn’t see it, but he hears Jackson’s response, his affirmative yip, a tongue over fingers and cockhead, like he’s a real goddamn puppy, and that has absolutely no right to be that fucking hot.

“Mm, that’s right, Jackson,” Peter croons, “But, Daddy’s still disappointed in you. You’re still a naughty puppy, biting our friend here.”

Jackson  _whines_  and Stiles tries so hard not to  _come_.

“Look at him. Isn’t he a naughty boy, Stiles?” When Stiles doesn’t answer, a hand twists in his collar, bends him back slightly. “ _Look_ ,” Peter growls and Stiles’ eyes snap open at the vicious twist on his cock, the prick of incisors on his neck.

Swallowing thickly, he cranes his head down to Jackson’s big blue eyes, dazed and desperate and, “Uh, yeah, yep. Bad puppy. Totally bad puppy.” Jackson’s wounded pout only tightens the knot building behind his sac.

Peter hums approvingly; Stiles shudders at the tongue on his ear. “I should apologize, too, Stiles. He still has some training left. Let’s show you how sorry we are.”

 _Sorry_ , apparently, entails Jackson crawling forward, his tongue stretched far, and Peter’s hand flying over his dick, pulling and twisting and squeezing until—

“Oh shit—oh fuck—oh  _yes_!”

—Stiles’ balls draw up and orgasm rushes up his cock, out in thick, messy stripes across Jackson’s tongue and lips, eye, nose, and cheek. Peter milks him firmly until he spasms, gurgles unattractively in pleasure, then, just sort of lets him go on jelly legs.

“So, do you accept our apology?” Peter asks with a chuckle.

As he watches Jackson’s tongue try to catch all the come it can before swallowing, as he catches the obvious bulge in Jackson’s jeans, Stiles finds himself nodding dumbly. Because, as far as apologies go, this is the absolute  _best_.


End file.
